


even as a shadow (even as a dream)

by janvandyne



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Smut, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 20:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janvandyne/pseuds/janvandyne
Summary: ***contains Black Panther spoilers***As T’Challa recovers in the Jabari village, you attempt to convince M’Baku to lead his army in battle alongside you and your king.





	even as a shadow (even as a dream)

  


* * *

“How long has it been since you were last here?”

You reply, “Too long.”

You don’t turn to look at him. Not yet. The view in front of you is too beautiful, and you’ve been gone for so long that you have almost forgotten how this small piece of Wakanda looks from its pedestal in the sky, so different from the lush, green plains and the bustling city that you now call home.

From your place at the mouth of the throne room, you can see far out into the night, so clear that no clouds obscure your view into the distance, where the snow-capped peaks fade in to the indigo sky. Below, tiny points of light litter the mountainsides, each individual glow a family, a home.

This was your home once, and despite whatever pretense you attempt to mask your ache with, you miss it. You were the first and only woman from the Jabari village to leave and join the Dora Milaje. Even as a child, you always knew that your calling was to serve Wakanda, and now you’ve fulfilled that destiny, acting as Princess Shuri’s personal guard, vowing to protect her in the face of any danger.

Your decision was contested by the leader of the Jabari, who saw it as a betrayal. He has since passed on to the ancestral plane as his father and his father before him, leaving his only son to take control over the village.

M’Baku is standing behind you when you finally do turn around, a hand on the back of his throne. His presence is overpowering. He’s always been big, but he stands a giant now, tall and wide, with broad shoulders, thick arms. He has grown even more handsome in the years passed, but his eyes haven’t changed – still deep and dark and kind despite any artifice that he puts on to pretend he is otherwise.

Your heart pounds in its unmistakable rhythm as you take him in, the beating of it loud as a drum in your ears. You hold the soft, thick fur wrapped around your body even tighter, your hands holding it closed from the inside, in an attempt to keep your outward appearance calm, unaffected.

You were torn once, between your love for M’Baku and your calling to serve Wakanda. And even though you left, you have always known that a piece of you had stayed behind.

“When last I was here, your father was sitting on that throne,” you tell M’Baku.

“Much has changed since then,” he replies. “Not that you would know.”

It feels like a punch to the gut, those words, his tone. It’s just a flippant remark, but you can hear the tiny threads of hurt woven in to his voice, and they lie heavy over you like a blanket.

“Well, then, sit,” you say, trying not to show your torment, “let me see you.”

M’Baku indulges you, moves to sit down on his throne. You circle it to walk in front of him, slowly, surveying him as you do. He’s sitting with a lazy sprawl, long legs spread wide, heavy boots flat against the floor. He’s leaning slightly to the side, one forearm on the armrest, and even so, he’s still tall as you where you stand.

“Hmm… not as big as your father,” you lie, trying to get a rise out of him.

“ _Bigger_ ,” he says, and then he pounds his fist on his chest twice for emphasis. “Stronger.”

His words ring true. His size does surpass his father’s, even in his prime. And you’re sure he’s superior to his father in all ways. He’s a better leader, of that there is no question. There’s no doubt what his father would have done if he found T’Challa frozen near to death in the icy river that runs through the valley at the bottom of the mountains. If he was offered the heart-shaped herb and the promise to rule.

“A bigger heart,” you reply. “A stronger soul. A lesser man would have left the king for dead. The Jabari are lucky to have you as their leader.”

M’Baku makes a dismissive sound and looks away from you, sinking deeper still in to his seat.

“The Jabari  _miss_ you,” he replies, and you’re not sure whether he means it as an affirmation or an accusation. He looks back at you to gauge your reaction.

This time, though, it’s your turn to dismiss the statement. You have nothing to give to the village or its people. When you lived there, you were just an orphan girl, living off the kindness of others, until you decided to train and join the ranks of the Jabari warriors. At least then, you had a purpose.

It wasn’t long after that you left to join the Dora Milaje. You didn’t know if they would accept you or not, for those of the gorilla and the panther have warred since the beginning of time. But T’Chaka was a compassionate and judicious king, and you were given a chance. That was years ago, and you’ve been away ever since.

“Come back,” M’Baku says, as if it were that simple.

“I made a vow to serve Wakanda,” you tell him. “To serve the crown. Which reminds me –”

You step closer to him, up on to the dais to stand between his spread legs. You slip one of your hands out of your fur, exposing, too, a bare arm and shoulder. You reach out and cradle the underside of his jaw in your palm, enclosing it in your fingers.

“— if you  _ever_  open your mouth to threaten the princess again, I will rip out your tongue.”

He looks at you, brows furrowed, as if he’s surprised that someone has spoken to him in such a way. But then, a smile begins to bloom on his face. And then he laughs, long and loud.

You arch a brow at him, face serious. You are a warrior of the Dora Milaje, the princess’s own personal guard, and a woman of fierce renown; you are not used to your words being taken to lightly. But instead of being intimidated, M’Baku merely grabs your wrist and removes it from his jaw.

“I did not threaten the girl,” he says, still smiling at you.

You huff at him and roll your eyes, and with the hold he has on your wrist, M’Baku jerks you forward, making you fall with a gasp on top of him. As you do, he lets go of your wrist so that you’re able to steady yourself with a palm against his chest, a knee on his thigh. He catches you with his hands gripping your hips, and he pulls you that extra distance so that your other knee falls as well, and before you can even process what just happened, you’re straddling his thighs with your own.

You can feel the strength in his hold, even separated by the thick fur, and you grab his own fur and suede tunic in your fist, trying to ground yourself, trying to calm your racing heart.

You haven’t been this close to him in so long. Haven’t been this close to anyone, except when your actions have been coupled with violence. What used to be so commonplace is now foreign, and although you wish you could fall back in to the once familiar motions, something seems to be holding you back.

M’Baku takes one of his hands off of your hip and tries to touch your face. Instinct makes you flinch away, but he doesn’t relent. Instead, he continues forward to gently graze his fingertips across your cheek, just the barest of touches, before he slowly slides them down, tracing your jaw.

His hand moves further down still, palm pressing against your throat so delicately that you barely even feel it at all, fingertips sinking softly in to your skin.

For anyone but him to touch you so in such a fragile and vulnerable place, it would mean for them pain or even death. But with M’Baku, you know that he would never harm you. And he knows just how to touch you, and instead of a threat, the action feels all too much like a reminder of what you once had.

You know that he’s sure to feel the pounding of your pulse beneath his hand, can feel your shallow breathing. He can feel exactly what he’s doing to you with only a touch.

M’Baku leans his face closer to you, and you stay still to let him, his nose softly pressing against your cheek, as the Jabari do when greeting the ones they love. It’s a sign of affection, him rediscovering your scent after so long. It’s not something you’ve seen elsewhere in Wakanda, and this tender gesture makes you feel all the more close to him, to your former home.

“But  _you_  threaten the leader of the Jabari,” he says, his voice in your ear so soft that you have to remember again what he’s speaking of. “What of  _your_ tongue?”

Oh, the princess, your threat.

You only hum in response, grazing your lips and the tip of your nose against his cheek as you pull back. You have to tilt your head so that you don’t bump noses with him as your lips hover over his, half-hooded eyes looking in to his own.

“What  _of_ my tongue, M’Baku?” you ask. “Hmm?”

With one hand wrapped around your waist, and the other cupping the back of your head, he leads you forward, closing the distance that separates the two of you, lips meeting yours in a warm embrace.

The kiss is slow, soft, unhurried, as if he decided that your lips are where he’s going to start on his quest to learn your body again. It’s just the press of his mouth against your own at first, but then those pillow-plush lips part, and he takes your bottom lip between his own, the tip of his tongue barely touching it in a delicate caress.

Your hand slides from his chest, up behind his neck. You take your other arm out of the fur, and it falls around your waist, exposing your nude body to the chill of the night air. You left your bed to come here, and all the Jabari sleep bare, sleeping with someone else to share body heat with them, if they can. M’Baku was once that person for you and maybe, just for tonight, he can be again.

M’Baku’s hands are on your skin as soon as you’re uncovered, battle-worn palms and fingertips gliding over your goosebumped fleshed. His arms are wrapped around your waist, hands on your back, holding you close. Your hands are cradling the back of his head, and his lips are still pressed against yours, his warmth surrounding you.

You feel the nip of his teeth, and then his hands slide down to grab your ass in a tight grip. You pull back with a gasp, your pussy throbbing at the feeling of his rough touch.

M’Baku follows you, resting his forehead against yours. Neither of you say anything. You just bask in each other’s presence, breathing each other’s air. It’s overwhelming, his presence, the entire situation. Nothing could have prepared you for the events that have transpired the day passed, and even now you feel like you have one foot in a dream that you both delight in and dread waking up from.

“Come back,” M’Baku says again, his words a whisper against your lips. “Come back to me.”

“I am here now,” you reply.

Because now is all that you have. Who but Hanuman knows what the dawn will bring? A fight, to be sure. Lives lost, perhaps, even yours. Tonight may well be your last night and you intend to make the most of it here with M’Baku. There’s no one else that you’d want to spend your final hours with.

He tilts his head back and looks up at your face, reverent. You can still see the love in his eyes, even after all these years, and you know the same is reflected back in yours. For you, it has always been M’Baku. No one could ever take his place in your heart.

“Then tonight, you are  _mine_ ,” he says.

“No,” you reply. “I am yours  _always_.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk, but you can still see the sadness in his gaze. You lean down to press a kiss to the middle of his brow, to smooth away the creased look of hurt on his handsome features.

M’Baku nips at your jaw before you can pull away, and you laugh softly as he makes his way down your throat, down to your collarbone, as far as his neck can bend and mouth can reach you from your position on top of him.

With his hands on the underside of your ass, he lifts you up on your knees, your bare chest now level with his face. He takes your breast in his palm and massages it, his rough skin scraping against your already hard nipple. You watch him as he watches what he’s doing, eyes intent on the malleable flesh in his hand, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Your fingers ease their way in to his thick hair so you can find his scalp, and when you do, you massage it with your fingertips the way you know he likes. He rewards your efforts with a moan, and you answer his with one of your own as he leans forward and licks your taut nipple.

He bites down on your nipple, not hard but enough to make you shiver, hand kneading your other breast, his other still gripping your ass. He soothes the sting with his warm tongue, and when he pulls away, the warmth is whisked away by the cold night air, the difference so abrupt it almost burns.

M’Baku smacks your ass and you jump with a gasp. He does it again, but this time you’re prepared, and instead of a gasp, it’s a moan, the force of his blow reverberating through your body. He smacks you one more time, harder than before, and then squeezes the tender flesh in his large palm.

The hand on your ass slides down, reaching between your legs, where M’Baku finds you dripping wet. He moans at his discovery, coating his fingers with your slick arousal as he rubs you from clit to asshole and back again.

Your fingers tighten in his hair and you arch your back, chest against his chest, making it easier for him to touch you whichever way he wants. And the way he wants is apparently slow, soft, teasing. He takes his time exploring you, fingers sliding between your folds, massaging your clit, dipping in to your soft, wet cunt just enough to leave you moaning and begging for more.

M’Baku’s other hand is on your back, pressing your body against his, face nuzzled in the curve of your neck. Your forearms are against his shoulder, hands wrapped around his head to keep him close to you, your cheek resting against his temple.

You rock your hips against him, trying to get more friction than the soft, slick slide of his teasing touch. He indulges you, and finally,  _finally_ , slides one finger in to your waiting pussy. You sigh at the feeling, and after a few unhurried pumps of his finger, M’Baku adds another one, stretching you with his thick digits.

You spread your legs wider, arch your back as much as you can, begging him without words to fuck you with his fingers harder and deeper. Instead, he pulls out, huffing a laugh at your whimper.

M’Baku slides his fingers across your clit, and he circles the sensitive nub, making your thighs tremble as he touches you. You rotate your hips and he massages you harder, rubbing your clit with quick, firm strokes. You whisper words of praise to him as you feel a warmth start to spread from your core.

The warmth builds in to a fiery heat and you can feel it all over your body, from your toes to the tip of your ears. As he rubs your clit, M’Baku smacks your ass, and the shock pushes you over the edge. You start to come, muscles tightening, legs shaking, your hips jerking back to gain more friction. Your whole body feels aflame as he navigates you through your orgasm, his slick, rough fingertips keeping a steady pressure on your clit.

M’Baku mouths at your collarbone as you come down, leaving a trail of kisses and nips up to your throat. He places one last kiss on your jaw and then leans his head back to look at you, his dark eyes sparkling, a smirk on his face.

He grazes his wet fingers across your lips, and before you have a chance to reach out your tongue to taste yourself, his mouth is already on yours, kissing you deep. You taste both M’Baku and yourself, now, a combination so beautiful together you could come again if you let yourself. And when M’Baku moans, lips still on your lips, you almost do.

Your hands grab at the hem of his tunic and he lifts his hips so that you can pull it up to his waist. His owns hands push his pants down to his thighs as you unfasten the buttons of his shirt. It’s hurried and inelegant, but you don’t care. All you care about is touching M’Baku, being skin to skin with him, the head of his body seeping in to yours.

When you finally do get his tunic open, you run your hands down his chest, his stomach, reveling in the softness covering strong, hard muscle. You reach down between your bodies to touch his cock, to stroke the thick length of it, but find that his hand it already there.

You wrap your hand around his fist, and he slides his hand up and down his dick, slowly, guiding you without letting you touch. It’s as cruel as it is tantalizing, being led through the motions but not being able to give him the pleasure that you see so clearly on his face.

With his free hand on your hip, M’Baku lifts you on your knees again, and you are glad for his strength because your legs are quivering in anticipation.

Holding his dick in his hand, he rubs the tip across your entrance, getting himself wet. You hold on to his broad shoulders for leverage as you slowly sink down on his dick, the thick head of it already stretching you after going without for so long.

M’Baku’s hand leaves his cock and he holds on tight to your hips before you can go any further, not letting you take him any deeper. He kisses you as you wait impatiently, rolling your hips in hope that you can encourage him to give you more.

Slowly, he starts to ease in to you, rocking his hips up, and going deeper with every thrust. And although the slow pace is agonizing, you also appreciate it, because once you are seated on him, stretched and full of his thick cock, the ache that you feel is one of more pleasure than pain.

You lift up on shaking legs, intent to ride him, but he thrusts up before you can, impaling you on his dick once more. You let him move you how he wants, holding on to his shoulders and he lifts you, pulling out almost all the way before filling you up again.

His long thrusts turn shorter and shorter, until he is more grinding against you than stroking, shifting his hips up and sliding deeper in to you than you ever would have believes possible. His dick is keeping a constant pressure on that sweet spot inside of you, and your clit is rubbing against his pelvis, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

It isn’t long before you’re coming, that familiar heat beginning to bloom again as you shake, gasp, fingernails digging into M’Baku’s shoulders. His moans mingle with yours, harsh puffs of your breath coming out like smoke in the cold night air.

One of M’Baku’s hand slides up your back, holding you close to his body, his other moves up to clasp the back of your neck, his hips rolling up to meet your own thrusts.

“Open your eyes,” he commands you.

And you do, staring in to his own deep brown. And although your body starts to slow down as you calm, M’Baku’s palms grasp your ass, holding on to you as he plunges up in to you. He thrusts fast, faster, until he lifts you up and off of him completely. And then he’s coming, hot and thick all over his own stomach, the length of his shaft rubbing against your over-sensitive clit.

You swallow his moans in a kiss, hands holding his cheeks to keep him steady. Eventually, his hips stop moving and you lay your head against his shoulder as you both calm down, breath coming in more normal.

M’Baku takes the forgotten fur and wraps it around your shoulders, covering your body with it. You grab the end of the fur and take it with you as you twine your arms around his neck, allowing it to blanket the both of you.

You could fall asleep like this, pressed against your lover’s warm body, head resting against his shoulder and face nuzzled in to the crook of his neck. You relax even more, sinking in to his touch as he wraps his arms around your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles against your back. And for a moment you forget that it’s not always like this, that your path hasn’t taken you away from him.

“Come back,” M’Baku says, one last time. “Be my wife.”

“Come  _with_  me,” you reply, lips moving against his neck. “Be my husband.”

“To Birnin Zana?” M’Baku asks. “My people will not have it.”

You lift up to face him, your eyes boring in to his. “Bring them with you,” you say.

M’Baku scoffs, turning his head away from you. You place a hand on his cheek to make him look at you again. This is too important for him not to take seriously, and you will not allow him to dismiss you.

“Unite the five tribes for the first time in our history,” you continue. “Fight with us and show the rest of Wakanda the strength of the Jabari.”

“ _Wakanda_ ,” he says, with a scoff again. “What do we have to prove to them?”

“Them?” you ask, and you shake your head in disbelief. “My love, are these mountains not Wakanda? These mountains that have given our people refuge and a home and protection from those who would try to take that all from us?”

You graze your fingertips along his jaw as you two sit a moment in silence. You don’t expect a reply and he doesn’t give you one. But you’re not finished with him yet.

“Are you not Wakanda?” you continue. “Who leads and guards your people, fighting for what you believe is right for the future of your country?”

He challenged T’Challa did he not? Not out of pride or hubris, but because of the belief that he could be a better and stronger ruler. And when he failed, he conceded in dignity, and the love of his people was apparent when they lifted him and held him up, supported him in his loss.

You lean forward to press a lingering kiss to his lips. You don’t pull back, not all the way, as you speak again, your mouth hovering over his. You hold his face in your hands, feeling the smooth skin and coarse beard beneath your palms.

“And I?” you ask. “Am I not Wakanda? I, who will leave tomorrow for war to protect her people? I, who loves you, M’Baku, but cannot stay.”

You lean your forehead against his and take the time to just bask in his presence. You’ve been torn between two places for so long, but that doesn’t mean you care for M’Baku any less.

He picks you up as he stands, and you wrap your legs around his waist, holding on. You can feel him, hot and hard beneath you, the top of his dick grazing against your wet cunt. You could smile at his predictability. Once was never enough for him, so why would it be this time?

“The night is still ours. And you are here, now,” he says. “Let us revel in this blessing that we’ve received and pay a _proper_  tribute to Wakanda.”

 


End file.
